[Castiel] Thursday's child has far to go. (childofthursday) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2013-09-13 18:09:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, castiel, penelope garcia |
Who: Castiel + Garcia
What: Drinking, comfort, pillow forts
When: Friday - 9/13
Where: Garcia's place!
Rating: pg-13 for sadness and talks of death
Status: Complete
He had thought to text first, and that had to count for something. Even if it had been a very terse set of words and responses on his part. Just enough typing to figure out that Garcia was home, and that she wasn't busy.
And then Castiel had literally appeared in her living room. He had his wings now, and could do things like that. It would be a relief and a pleasure to him if he weren't so out of sorts.
Dean had told him to drink until he didn't feel anything anymore. And that had been a day ago. He was still feeling, and so he was still drinking. It made sense, didn't it? So he'd brought a bottle with him. It was mostly full, just in case Garcia wanted to share.
"Hello."
Garcia, for her part, wasn’t aware that Cass could just show up. So she was in her jammies on her sofa, knitting a scarf that was going to be part of Dean’s Christmas gift, humming along with the Jeopardy theme as it came onto the TV. “Hmm hmmmm hmmm, hmmm HOLY SH - “ She jumped three feet and blinked.
Had a drunk angel just teleported into her house with a whiskey bottle in his hand? “Castiel? Are you okay?”
Castiel actually laughed at that, although he wasn't sure if he was laughing at just how high she'd jumped, or the question. Maybe it was a little of both.
"No." He replied, and then saw fit to plop himself down on the floor in front of her couch. It seemed like an easier place to be as far as depth perceptions and couches worked. Also, he was fairly certain that he couldn't fall off the floor. "I'm drunk."
“Can you ... get drunk, or do you just think you are?” She moved to sit on the floor with him, abandoning her knitting. Taking the bottle, she winced before taking a swig. She’d get tipsy, just so she could Speak Drunk. It was hard for her to talk to drunk people while sober. She’d wager money that science backed her up, too.
"I'm pretty sure I can," Castiel said, but then looked a little concerned, like maybe he wasn't sure. He felt drunk. That meant something, right? And he'd certainly had a vomit worthy hangover earlier in the day. Yeah. He could get drunk. He nodded, more assured, and it was emphatic and exaggerated.
“You’d think that angels couldn’t, dear god whiskey straight hurts. Do you want some soda to put that in?” She reached out to straighten his askew tie. “Where’s Dean?”
"You'd think angels couldn't do a lot of things." Like die. Castiel made a face over that one, looking a little dejected, but shaking his head over the prompt of soda. He'd already gotten used to the whiskey straight.
"He's -- at the bar. Lux." Castiel hadn't been able to stomach the idea of going with. "To see Lucifer."
“... why?” Garcia got up to get herself some soda, coming back with a sandwich for Castiel to help head off the hangover. “Did something happen, Cas?” She fell into the pet name easily, if only because she felt like Castiel’s sister-in-law already, and like she could become a good friend.
Cas took a cursory bite of the sandwich, although he wasn't sure he was hungry. "Yes," he said, and then went back to the bottle. "My brother is dead." But that didn't seem like enough, and so he just kept going. "Something happened. He went -- bad. Evil. We had to --" Pausing, Cas shook his head, looked overwhelmed at it all.
Garcia’s eyes went wide, and she blinked for a moment, tears filling her eyes. “Oh, Cas,” she murmured, reaching out a hand. She wanted to throw her arms around him, but knew that wasn’t exactly what he wanted. Instead, she just squeezed his hand. “Oh, sweetheart, may I hug you?”
"Yes." Although it wasn't amazingly thought through, there had been a reason he'd come here. Garcia obviously cared, wouldn't send him away or mock him for being out of sorts. She was nearly a sister, in her own right (although, obviously, not in the same way that Samandriel had been). He set his sandwich down, and the bottle and half wobbled the rest of the way over to her. He didn't normally like hugging, but rather could use one right now.
Moving closer, she wrapped her arms around him, moving him so his head was resting on her chest. Boobs weren’t just sexual objects, they were there to help her comfort people, damn it all. “No matter what happened, you will always have the time together when he was good. He loves you still somewhere, I believe that.” Garcia believed in love, in everything happening for a reason, and she believed in God. It was why Castiel’s angelic nature didn’t scare her.
It was probably impossibly to be particularly frightened of a socially awkward angel, anyway. Castiel had never shown more than that around her, although he expected if she'd seen him the day before last, she might have thought differently.
The boobs as comfort kind of helped, since he didn't think of them as anything different. "He was more than my brother. It was --" But he wasn't sure how to put it, and he didn't want to confuse her. Because of course he loved Dean above anything else. "Different."
She wondered what he meant, and she hugged him a little tighter. “I’m so sorry. No wonder you’re drinking.” Especially if they were the ones to have stopped him. “What happened to him? You said he was sweet. There must have been some sort of inciting incident.” Dream talk, coming from her lips.
Speaking of drinking -- Cas twisted around a little to pick the bottle back up. Multitasking through hugs was a thing he could apparently do now. "He was sweet. Samandriel was Good." He said it nearly reverently, that G capitalized even in speech. "I loved him." Clearly, Castiel got more social when he was drunk, accepting cuddles and offering responses that weren't limited to three words each.
"I don't know. He got violent, threatening. Hurt people -- nearly Dean. I couldn't." he sighed, and sounded somewhere between annoyed and lost. "Dean wouldn't let me do it. Lucifer killed him. Now he's there, drinking with Lucifer, and I can't."
She nodded, running her fingers through his hair and rocking him gently. “You did something that saved other people. The right thing is almost never easy to do, you know that. Do you think Dean’ll be out long? I can text him to come spend the night here. We’re going to make you and I a pillow fort.”
Settling his cheek more fully on her chest (hey, it was comfort, not weird objectification - Castiel was quite the feminist, thank you), he closed his eyes and sighed a little. Dean had said to fake it until things were normal, but he was glad he'd come here instead. It felt better than just drinking and staring at the wood grain of the kitchen table, or thinking about the blood he'd needed to clean out of the carpet in the living room.
"I'm not --un-- er." He tried again. "I don't know how long he'll be. You can try." He didn't know what the point of a pillow fort was, but it sounded like a decent distraction.
She nodded, texting Dean a quick Castiel is here with me when you’re ready, pillow fort commencing and then stood up. “First we have to find every soft thing in the place.” It was a good distraction, and Garcia never felt as cosy as when she was in a pillow fort.
"Okay." Cas didn't get up so much as take another long pull from his bottle and then squint heavily at the couch cushions. Those were soft. And right next to him.
So it was more Castiel watching Garcia make a pillow fort, that was fine. Garcia did this at least once a month, but usually just for one person. Doing it for two wasn’t much different. Soon she poked her head out, motioning him to come in. “It’s cosy. I think it mimics the womb somehow? I don’t know, I always feel safe in a pillow fort.”
"The womb?" Cas only shook his head and laughed over it. Sometimes she said the strangest things. Probably one of the reasons Dean liked her so well. And of course, Castiel tended to like anyone Dean did, it was just the way of things.
So he half wobbled, half crawled into the little fort and looked around as if he were making note of the structure and architecture of it all. "It is nice," he said, making himself more comfortable, loosening his tie a little -- and then gave a sad little pause. "Samandriel would have liked it."
“It does! It’s cosy and dark, and comfortable.” She grinned lopsidedly, handing him a Powerpuff Girls comic book and taking out her DS. “Look, I caught a legendary Pokémon.” She noticed how sad he looked and leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. “I know.”
Samandriel would probably have liked Garcia in general, Castiel thought, but then dropped it because he'd rather be drunk and ignorant than overly sad and guilty. Good thing he'd brought the bottle. He swallowed, licked his lips and then nodded.
"What legendary?"
“The flying one,” she smiled. She stroked Castiel’s cheek. “In my dreams, and I know they’re not the same at all, but - in my dreams my parents died when I was Samandriel’s age. They were in a car accident, a drunk driver hit them. And it helped me talk about them with other people. You could, if you wanted.”
The flying one. Of course. Cas rolled over onto his back, ignoring the comic he'd been handed (even drunk, he was still a bit rudely blunt), and stared up at the blankets before glancing over at her. This felt silly, he noted dully. An angel of the lord cuddling in a pillow fort. But it helped, a little.
"We were -- he was only my brother in terms of dreams. Angels. It wasn't incestuous any more than it is for any unrelated humans to --" He paused, laughed a little. "God's children. That was how we were brothers."
She moved so his head could be in her lap, stroking his hair. “Castiel, I’m not going to judge you for what you do with your brothers. I know they’re your dream brothers, and even in the dreams it’s not a problem.” She closed her eyes. “What was he like?”
Cas closed his eyes, was well aware that this was the second time that he'd cried in front of Garcia. He'd never used to do things like this, but he couldn't seem to help it now. "He was beautiful." He said it simply, it was obvious he'd truly believed that. "He was the angel of Imagination. I watched him design the sunrise. His wings looked like that, you know. Humans can't see wings, so it must sound silly." He paused, sighed. "He was good."
“It doesn’t sound silly, Castiel, it sounds beautiful. Thank you for telling me.” She leaned down to kiss his cheek. “What are yours like?” She ran her fingers through his hair, knowing that her nails on his scalp would soothe.
They really did. Cas wasn't sure what it was, but it was very hard to resist comfort when it was in the form of head petting; he absolutely loved it when Dean offered the same gesture.
"Darker, I suppose." He'd had his wings here for maybe two days now, but longer than millennia in his dreams. As such, he barely thought about what they looked like anymore -- no more than what he imagined the back of his calves looked like or -- anything else. "Nearly black, but not quite. More blue." That he couldn't share the delight with Samandriel was just another thing that made him sad. He'd envied Samandriel's wings terribly.
“Like a grackle,” she murmured, snuggling close to him. Her hands remained in his hair, and she hoped she was helping. She hoped for some sort of miracle, and she was only a little embarrassed when she found she’d bowed her head and was praying silently to herself.
"Yes," Castiel agreed, half nodding. "very much like the bird." He paused, tilted his head up a little to consider her, the slight change in posture, and then squinted thoughtfully. It was a look he gave when he was considering something very deeply or confused by it. "You're praying."
“Maybe He’ll listen if it comes from a party who’s a little removed from things,” she sniffled, wiping at her cheeks. “I’m sorry, I can stop if it bothers you.”
"You shouldn't be sorry." Nearly blearily, he looked around for his whiskey, but seemed to give up just as quickly. Now that he was down completely on his back, the world was spinning and that probably wouldn't bode well later on.
"My father --" he frowned, thoughtful. "I used to be very devout. Do you think He's angry?"
“Here,” Garcia had noticed his fumbling, and she handed him the bottle of water and granola bar she’d brought into the fort with her. “You should drink some water, it’ll help with tomorrow.” She resumed stroking his hair when she’d uncapped the water for him.
But his question made her think. “I don’t know. I don’t know why horrible things happen. I just ... I have to trust, because if I don’t, I think that I’ll go crazy. If things don’t happen for a reason, if good people don’t get rewarded karmically, then I don’t know what I’d do.”
He tilted himself over enough to be on his side, drinking the water without question for a moment. His hangover was going to be levels of epic, and even he was aware of it. That was okay, he was pretty sure Dean had some really good painkillers.
"Samandriel was good though," he said, blunt, sharp, nearly unforgiving. "Why would my Father allow that? He only wanted to make art and imagine the best of things." Dean had been right, after all: it was probably smart to hang on to the anger while he could, because nothing after that seemed worth it.
“That’s why I always pray for clarity too. Just because ... not understanding is awful. That’s the worst part.” She’d woken up from the dream about her parents dying with tears on her face; her parents were such good people they didn’t even own a car for fear of the carbon emissions. “It’s not fair. None of it is. And I hate it.” She was openly crying, and knew her mascara was running. “I hate that you two are hurting.” She didn’t know Lucifer or she’d hate that he was upset as well.
Cas gave up on his initial attempts to stay laying down -- instead scooted himself up, wavered a little until he found a proper crouching position and then pulled the crying woman close to him. Maybe it was wrong of him to come here, to further the hurt. It hadn't been his intention.
"I'm sorry," he said, and meant it.
“Don’t be sorry,” she chuckled, wrapping her arms around him too. “I just love you two. I want you guys to be happy. You’ve been family since I met you, and my family deserves better.” It was as simple as that in Penelope Garcia’s world; she did what she could to protect people she was close to, and she loved them very much.
Cas didn't know what to say to that, because part of his family was dead now, and having more didn't make that any better or worse. He had half a mind to think that being with Garcia probably just wasn't safe. Good things did not seem to happen to his family.
Giving a little sigh, he settled his chin on top of her head and just held on. "We shouldn't let Dean continue drinking," he said after a beat, changing the subject completely. He was aware it was a load of shit, coming from the drunkest guy in the room.
“No. We shouldn’t. Tonight’s one thing, but tomorrow... yeah, we should talk to him.” She didn’t think him having one night would hurt, but she hoped Dean would be amenable to their intervention.
Pulling back a little, she chuckled at Castiel. “Hey, I’m comforting you, I get to be big spoon. Oh, and I preordered you the new Pokémon, it’ll show up on the 12th when it comes out.” She kissed his cheek.
Tomorrow, yes. It couldn't continue, because Castiel was sure that if Dean kept going, it would only break them all more. He nodded, gave up his spot as the large spoon (whatever that meant) and tilted his head to the side. "We can play together to get all the starters before really getting into the game," he said in way of thanks. Castiel really did love those Pokemon games, and right now the idea of it was a fairly good distraction.
She nodded, smiling. “I got you X and got Y for myself, and got Dean Y too so you two can play when I’m not around.” She’d also gotten her boyfriend X so she and Sebastian could trade too.
Scooting behind him, she moved so that they were laying down and she could stroke his hair again.
"That's very kind of you," he said, mildly, calming a bit with the new hair petting. He liked that. "I will have to make it up to you." Willing the world to stop spinning wasn't working, and so he closed his eyes and watched the blackness spin instead.
Cas had to admit he liked this; Garcia offered an honest kind of comfort that was easy to take. Admittedly, he was drunk and a little more tactile because of it, but still.
“No you won’t. You’re family, and you don’t owe me anything for anything I do for you. Do you need some more water?” She scritched his scalp, yawning a little from behind him.
"No." He just didn't want to move. Anyway, if he was going to throw up, at least he knew he could get to the bathroom in less than the blink of an eye. "Maybe just sleep." Cas gave a pause, as if he felt silly admitting it, and then went on anyway. It wasn't as if Garcia hadn't already seen the worst of him today. "But it's strange without --" Dean. Obviously. Cas hadn't actually spent any long periods of time away from the other man since they'd met, practically.
“I know. Do you want me to drive you to where he is?” She ran her nails over his back, scritching lightly up and down that way. “It’s awful sleeping alone when you’ve been sleeping with someone for a long time. Maybe if you had his pillow? It’d smell like him.”
"Maybe," Cas said, not sure what what he was agreeing to. He just wanted Dean here. The three of them could curl up in the space that was only meant for two and Cas wouldn't mind at all who took the middle so long as everything stayed warm with the strange overtone of comfort that the blankets propped above them offered.
But he was a realistic sort, and so didn't bother saying so. "It's okay. We can just stay here."
“Okay.” She resumed scritching his back, glad she was just teary eyed and silent behind him. She wanted to help him be comforted, to hold him and help him feel safe for an evening.
Back scratches were nice, Cas decided. He sighed, a sad heavy little noise and burrowed his face into the crook of his arm. "I miss him," he said, softly, and he wasn't even sure if he was talking about Samandriel or Dean. Maybe both.
In the end, though, Dean not being there didn't stop him from sleeping. Passing out was easy with a crutch as strong as whiskey.
And if he woke up crying in the middle of the night after dreaming of Samandriel begging for help -- well -- Garcia wouldn't hold it against him and more than Dean had the night before.